I Just Want to Go Home
by riceyriceyricey
Summary: AU But he didn't leave empty handed. He'd taken Alfred's heart with him. He liked to wonder where Arthur was right now; what he was doing, who he was with, and if he missed any of them.Them. Their family. All that was to be changed with a song.


(Warnings: Yaoi, AlfredXArthur, chessy sappy-ness, and implied mpreg)

Molly Christine's small head bumped against that of her twin sister, the hands entwining as their father tucked them into bed that night.

"Daddy," Victoria Elizabeth chirped, her fingers tangled in the knotted hair of her fairy doll by the name of Lunetta. "Story?"

The other seven year-old nodded vivaciously in agreement, reaching over to comb the knots out of her sibling's long, once-pony tailed hair.

"I wanna hear a good one," she concurred with a pout, waving her arms around dramatically to emphasize her point, "One with drama"-she held a hand over her forehead and collapsed before springing back to live, her gestures wilder and more energetic than before. "An' action! An' romance and…" she slipped under the covers before pouncing playfully on top of Victoria who squeaked fearfully in surprise. "An' _terror_!"

Her father ruffled her short, wavy, caramel-blonde hair with a small smile,

"Save it for the stage, kiddo."

Victoria hyperventilated, still recovering from the most recent attack.

Out of Molly's favorite hobbies, the one she enjoyed the _most _was traumatizing her big sister.

"When's Mummy coming home?" the younger of the fraternal twin asked, holding a stuffed hamburger to the chest of her light-blue flannel nightgown, eyes shimmering hopefully.

Their father didn't reply, biting his lip as he hid tears behind his eyes.

Victoria nodded in harmony, her glasses set on the bedside table on her half of the futon.

"So…" his voice quavered and his lips twitched and trembled as he set a hand on each of his daughter's shoulders, "Once upon a time…"

After about two sentences, both girls were asleep, their heads resting against one another and hands held tight with their toys tucked under their free arms.

He bent over and kissed both their heads, mindful of the cowlick perching triumphantly between Molly's bangs. It fluttered as she took her breaths; drawing them calmly and releasing them in perfect unison with Victoria.

Leaning against the door after he clicked it shut, Alfred slid down to the cold, polished wood of the floor, tears building up behind his eyes again…but he didn't fight it anymore; his large frame shaking violently as he sobbed into the crossed arms that held his folded legs up to his chest.

Mummy wasn't coming back.

"_I love you…I know it, but I just need…need to sort myself out." _

When lovers left, he'd learned from a previous heartthrob-turned-heartache fiasco, they didn't come back.

A 'short trip to the grocery store' could turn into an affair with some other man in the flutter of a pulse.

And this time wad no different. He knew Arthur had been miserable; that he was…hurting himself, but like most people, he was too stubborn to accept help.

But when Victoria walked in on him beginning to slide the razor up his left arm, Alfred told him that this was getting _out of__**control**_, he left.

Left behind his kids, left behind his husband, and bluntly, left behind his life as well.

But he didn't leave empty handed.

He'd taken Alfred's heart with him.

He liked to wonder where Arthur was right now; what he was doing, who he was with, and if he missed any of them.

_Them_. Their family; the children he'd carried, birthed, and cared for and loved so long after that.

No matter what he was doing to _himself_, Arthur always put Molly and Victoria first; making sure they were happy, in perfect health, and receiving a well-rounded education. At a parent visitation night one year, he and Alfred encountered a highly prejudiced teacher who apparently had something wrong with the two being married.

In reply, Arthur calmly pulled his husband down in a passionate, feral kiss; the kind with teeth clashing against teeth and lips, breathless moans passed from one mouth to another and fingers hooking wantonly in waistbands.

No matter what, it was all about the kids.

It wasn't that Alfred and Arthur had problems-oh goodness no-but sometimes…the quarreled and disagreed over things that were much sillier than they seemed at the time at the dispute.

One of their best, they both agreed, was the petty argument over what kind of _peanut butter _to buy for the girls' lunches.

As it turned out in the end, both youngsters had agreed that they _didn't like _peanut butter anymore and the whole clash of heated opinions were in vain.

Not to mention that they received several awkward looks from other customers and were eventually asked to leave.

With the two of them, arguments usually ended in sex and were resolved in tears and long conversations.

They'd made out in the car for a good half-hour after that, before Arthur began sobbing hysterically and starting on the whole 'I don't deserve you' rant in the passenger seat.

Alfred finally pulled himself from the floor outside his daughters' bedroom and migrated to the living room couch, passing by a mirror on his way and pausing.

He looked he'd just walked through hell and back; his eyes red and bloodshot behind his glasses and fresh stubble littered across his chin and sunken cheeks.

He used to have the face of a cheerful young boy…but now he was simply and ailed, miserable old man with nothing but a broken heart.

He was bawling on borrowed breath as it was; for he no longer had the will to breathe on his own.

He had to live for Molly and Victoria, though; because without a mother or father to love and protect them, how were they to love and protect others?

…and he loved those tow little balls of sunshine more than anything, and that would never change. His baby girls were what woke him up in the morning and gave him the energy to fall asleep at night.

He poured himself a shot of whiskey and turned on the television, hoping to get his mind off what he wanted the most right now.

He wanted-no. He _needed_ a smaller hand enclosed with his and a slender frame leaning against his shoulder, pursed pink lips murmuring a small lullaby and a hand gently stroking his hair.

And for a moment, he had that; he felt a brief flash of comfort and certain, a pleasure which he unconditionally lacked.

"…this faceless pianist and singer remains with his hit single known as 'I'm Sorry'," the woman on whatever show he was watching. He didn't even know. "So here's The Winter Crier with 'I Don't Want to Be Famous, I Just Want to Go Home'."

A piano's keys fluttered a bit on the poorly taped music video and the camera focused in on a young man wearing a white mask over his eyes and his hair hidden behind a black top hat. His silken fingers slipped and glided across the keys effortlessly and the visual quality suddenly improved tremendously and the scene flowed into black and white.

The voice was so uncannily familiar.

"_I've spent so much time writing this song, love,_

_It's bloody ridiculous how long it's taken,_

_Half my time has been wasted,_

_My hand's cramping through my gloves,_

_On this chilly winter night,_

_Though my tune is not upbeat,_

_And my lyrics are not tight._

_But I hope this gets the message across all right."_

Arthur. So he'd been making a name for himself, singing slow and melancholy words to get sympathy. Alfred's blood suddenly ran cold. Sad, forest green eyes burned holes through the camera and they began to fill with water as the singer continued to play and the song melted into the chorus.

"_I'm sorry that I left you,_

_It was really for the better,_

_And I hope you hear my sincerity,_

_Through this horribly musical letter._

_Tell the children that I love them,_

_And that everything's okay,_

_And maybe, maybe, maybe_

_I'll come back home someday."_

And for some reason there, as he saw tears roll over the mask, he felt a pang in his hear as if the world had begun to make sense and that all he ever wanted wasn't starving for attention, but starving for love…starving to be in Alfred's arms again, as Alfred starved to have Arthur in his.

"_It's not that I am happy here,_

_Or afraid to see your face,_

_I just feel awful running out that door,_

_With such cowardice and haste._

_And still I sing this song to you,_

_And still you won't reply,_

_Because I might not be coming back,_

_And I myself,_

_Do not know why."_

After that, the song slipped into its refrain once more and the arc of the song began to build; Arthur pounded on the keys with intensity and feeling.

. "_Memories flood my befuddled mind,_

_Sadness weighing down my soul,_

_Because without my lover dear,_

_I am not a whole._

_I am left in pieces,_

_Shattered,_

_And in remains,_

_Because this letter has a single,_

_And hopefully prominent aim._

_To get you to forgive me,_

_For being destructive and vain,_

_Because I'm a no-good bastard,_

_With no love to my name."_

And with that, the musician rubbed a tear away with the back of his hand and closed the instrument's wooden lid with a grim demeanor that implied that he was shutting the coffin of a loved one.

Alfred cried harder than he had in a long time, curled up in a blanket as the bottle hit the floor and letting out as many anguished sobs as his throat would allow, the television having been turned off in favor of his laptop.

'I Don't Want to Be Famous, I Just Want to Go Home' played over and over from I-tunes on a repetitive loop that seemed to lull his troubles away as he feel into a dreamless sleep with only Arthur's voice to lead him through the darkness.

(Eeeee! First chappie! Yeah, this is going to be some cheesiness out the roof by the time it's over. You just wait.

I don't own Alfred and Arthur, but I own the song 'I Don't Want to Be Famous, I Just Want to Go Home', since it's a little poem I'd written.

Here are my OCs.

Molly- Looks like Fem!America as a little kid. (short, wavy hair, big blue doe-eyes…)

Victoria- Looks like fem!_England_ as a little kid. (Long hair in twin ponytails, green eyes, glasses…)

Yeah, I know, they're really original. So you could say that I don't really own them either XD …though I really wouldn't like it if you said that, because their personalities are actually _quite _different as you soon shall see. (I hope)

Anyhow, this story will _hopefully _become more than just a one-shot (anyone who's read my other multi-chapter fics should know that I'm not the best at updating…teheheheh *shot*) and I'll try to keep going with it.

Reviews make me happy and if you review, I'll give you a present! :O

..not really, but let's _pretend _I'll give you a present.

Much love,

~Ricey)


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